


Just a little bit of love

by bev_crusher1971



Series: TLC [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:11:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bev_crusher1971/pseuds/bev_crusher1971
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Melissa, the Sheriff and Chris Argent all need some TLC. Derek and Stiles need some time alone. And Scott needs a little push in the right direction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a little bit of love

**Author's Note:**

> Huge Thanks to Monemaus, my trustworthy beta. <3

After Stiles' return everything went pretty much back to normal. 

Or as normal as life in Beacon Hills would ever be, the Sheriff mused, watching the flock of werewolfy teenagers that had somehow decided that his living room was an awesome meeting place. 

All. The damn. Time. 

Lucky for him he got help. Some was expected such as the help from Scott's mother Melissa who was currently cooking in his kitchen, trying to make enough food to either feed a small army or a bunch of still-growing werewolves. And humans of course. 

Some was a little unexpected such as Argent's who was outside, teaching the kids some fighting moves. He watched the hunter. Lean body, all hard muscle, short cut dark hair, already interlaced with silver. 

He was … interesting for lack of a better word. And he stirred something inside of him. Something that was new to the Sheriff. Not unwelcome but new. 

Then he looked over his shoulder at Melissa. She was everything he loved in a woman. Warm, curvy, compassionate, loving. Accepting. She was perfect. And looking directly at him. He smiled involuntarily, relieved when she smiled back. 

An almost whining sounding, "Mo-om!“ from Scott irritated him for a moment. Then he saw a blush creeping up her neck, and she laughed, "Oh shush, Scott!“

It seemed to be an old argument between mother and son even if he couldn't follow it. He relaxed, turning to the window again to watch the graceful movements of Chris Argent who just flipped Derek with a practiced move on his back, making the werewolf growl slightly. Stiles only stood next to them, laughing his ass off. When Derek in a mock-attempt flung himself at him though, he was immediately tackled by three other werewolves who were pinning him down easily. 

The Sheriff smiled. Oh yeah, his kid was well protected. But then something weird happened. Instead of laughing at the trapped werewolf, Stiles seemed to get agitated, flinging himself into the bunch of growling, snapping wolves, and shoved them off Derek, yelling at every single one of them until they finally let go, and stood at the sides, looking for all the world like puppies that just got a newspaper on their noses for ruining the carpet. Stiles helped Derek up, even brushed the dirt from his shirt, and touched him everywhere, apparently checking if he was okay. He couldn't hear what Derek said to his son but he saw him relaxing again. 

"What the hell, Stiles?“ he murmured quietly. 

"Werewolves are very protective once they love someone,” a voice behind him stated, and he turned around, gazing at Melissa who had abandoned the kitchen to come standing next to him. “Scott once explained it to me. Once I finished freaking out about my son being a werewolf.” She laughed softly at herself. The Sheriff smiled, feeling again like a 17-year old teenager, awkward as soon as a beautiful woman was talking to him. 

But Melissa was different. She simply gazed outside, and continued, “He told me it was because their senses sharpen so much they can smell things that ordinary people,” she made quotation marks in the air at ordinary, “can't smell. And one of that things is attraction. Apparently our whole body odor changes as soon as we're with someone we feel attracted to.”

Scott chose that moment to raise his head looking with an almost pained expression at his mother, before he practically ran outside to join the others in their fighting lessons. 

“So you mean that Derek and my son...” he didn't dare to finish that thought, let alone the sentence. 

“...are attracted to each other?” she said with a smile. “Of course they are. Why do you think Derek is protecting him so much?”

“Because he's pack?” the Sheriff guessed, and knew in the same moment that he was only fooling himself. Yes, the werewolves considered Stiles a pack mate. They had proven that over the last few days and weeks again and again. In the end, Stiles being pack was what had saved him. But Derek wasn't the alpha anymore. So his protection of Stiles was more like a lover protecting his mate. And vice verse. Stiles had just proven that to everyone as clear as day when he had thrown himself into a bunch of fighting … okay, mock-fighting, play-fighting werewolves to get Derek out. 

With a sigh, the older Stilinski dropped his head, and massaged his neck. He could feel a headache coming on. Just when he thought he might have everything back under control. A soft hand touched his forehead, and he opened his eyes he had closed inadvertently. 

“You okay?” Melissa asked softly. “I know this is a lot to take in, and ...”

“How do you handle it?” he interrupted her. She frowned for a moment then the smile returned. 

“Well, for one, I had a little more time to get used to it than you did.” She watched her son who was just jumping at Isaac, wrestling him down to the floor, laughing breathlessly while Chris Argent stood next to them, shaking his head in amusement. When the hunter raised his head, his eyes found the Sheriff's and he smiled, nodding shortly. It was this moment that Scott's head shot up again, his eyes flashing red for a second, staring from him to Argent and back. Isaac used his alpha's irritation to grab the other teenager, and pin him to the ground. 

“For another matter,” Melissa continued, “for me it was either accepting the fact that my son turned into a dog every four weeks, housebroken thank god,” she laughed at the almost hurt look his son shot her before he grabbed Isaac and changed their positions. Apparently, he could hear everything they were saying, “or kick him out,” she finished her sentence, “and that was never ever an option for me.” Scott's look turned soft, and he grinned widely at his mom, effortlessly pinning Isaac to the floor with one hand. 

“You on the other hand,” she turned to him, “you have a choice. Your son is still human. You can kick them all out if you want to.”

“And break my son's heart?” The Sheriff snorted. “Not gonna happen, Melissa.”

With a smile almost as wide and beaming as her son's, she put a hand on his chest, right over his heart, and patted him gently. “I always knew you had a good heart, Sheriff.”

A slow warmth spread through him, and he was tempted to put his own hand over hers just to keep it on his chest for a little while longer. But before he could move a muscle she turned back to the kitchen. 

“So, before all those dogs,” another pained look from Scott, combined with a howl of protest from outside, “come rushing in, starved to their bones, I should make sure the food is ready.”

The Sheriff nodded, and decided to step outside to join Chris Argent in supervising the kids. 

~*~

Scott was confused. 

He could smell the attraction between his mom and Stiles' dad. It was one of the things that had driven him outside in the first place. As soon as his mom had stepped up to the Sheriff, the pheromones had become too much for him to handle because hello? His mom??? 

Wrestling outside with Isaac had distracted him for a few minutes until another bout of pheromones had hit him. Not only him but Isaac too. He could feel the other werewolf get sloppy in his movements. But then he had looked up at Argent, had followed his gaze back to … to … Stiles' DAD? It was that moment that Isaac had managed to turn tables on him, and tackle him to the ground. 

What the hell was going on here? He could compensate his mom lusting after the Sheriff (and that thought alone was disturbing enough for him). But what the heck was going on between the Sheriff and Allison's dad? He took a deep breath, and to the slight wave of lust came barely concealed jealousy. 

Jealousy?

Against whom? 

Stiles' dad or his mom? 

He tuned in on their conversation – shamelessly because he just *had* to know and this was his mom after all – and heard nothing that could explain the older Argent's strange emotions. Without thinking too much, he pinned Isaac to the floor, and watched the two. 

After a few minutes, the Sheriff came outside, and stood next to Allison's dad. The hunter's scent changed but only slightly. There was still lust, a little bit of jealousy but there was also a weird scent on contentment. 

“Ahm, Scott?” Allison's voice interrupted his train of thought and he looked up at her. 

“Yeah? Hi, Allison. What's up?”

She snorted. “Could you please let my boyfriend go? I still might kinda need him, and he seems to be a short time away from passing out.”

“What?” Irritated, Scott glanced to the ground, and realized that he still held Isaac firmly down on the ground. Quickly, he pulled his hand back. “Oh god, Isaac, sorry, I'm so, so sorry.”

Coughing and wheezing, Issac came up, the dark marks around his throat already fading. “What the hell, Scott?” he breathed. 

“I … I don't know. I'm sorry, okay?” He reached out to help him up, and after a moment of hesitation, Isaac grabbed his hand and let himself be pulled up. 

He noticed that Stiles looked strangely at him while Derek who was – like always these days – hovering close to him had his eyes trained on the two men. 

So he had noticed something strange, too. Scott had to talk to him. 

~*~

Something seemed … off today. Derek was used to being surrounded by different pheromones because he *was* part of a pack that consisted mostly of teenagers. Hormonally imbalanced teenagers! So being constantly doused in pheromones was practically normal. 

But today the scent was different. Sharper. More pronounced, less hidden. Knowing that everyone around you could smell everything, taught the werewolves pretty quick to at least try to hide their arousal, their attraction or whatever it was that was confusing their hormone-guided brains. 

But this was stronger. It came from someone who was not used to hide it. Who never *had* to hide it before. Who didn't *know* that he better should hide it because everyone else could read it as loud and clear as if spoken out loud. He saw Scott's eyes widen and knew that he had smelt it, too. Then he followed his gaze, and there it was. The source of the almost overpowering scent. 

The Sheriff and Argent. 

Standing side by side, a little closer than two men normally would. His gaze flew quickly to Stiles to see if he could explain it. But Stiles was staring at Scott, apparently not quite grasping the weird behavior of his old friend. 

Derek frowned. Something was not right here, and he had to talk to Scott. 

~*~  
Melissa smiled as the pack – not so unlike a puppy pile – came stumbling into the Stilinski house with Argent and the Sheriff following at a more measured pace. 

She looked at the Sheriff. She liked him. Like: REALLY liked him. But there was something about Chris Argent that made her skin tingle, too. Something dangerous. Something that caused goosebumps to break out on her skin. 

The Sheriff was sweet and nice and reliable. 

The hunter was dangerous, mysterious and strong. She remembered Rafael, her ex-husband and Scott's father. He had the same aura of danger that she could feel in Argent which explained why she felt attracted to him. Don't the girls always want to have the bad boy? But on the other hand she always had yearned for a man like Stilinski. Someone who would call if he came home late. Someone who would remember her birthday. Or their wedding day. Who would come home at night and just watch TV with her. Who took her out to dinner, who asked her how her day had been. 

She watched those two different men, saw them walking close together, bumping shoulders, smiling at each other and just for a moment she thought about being with both of them. It was a thought that made her tingle all over. She imagined both men in her life. In her bed. Their hands on her body, kissing her mouth, her neck, her …

“MOM!”

Unnoticed by her, Scott had come into the kitchen, and was now staring at her. “Could you please at least *try* and keep your hormones in check?” Scott hissed. He was almost pink, and Melissa felt something like sorrow. Quickly, she walked over to him, and hugged him. 

“I'm sorry, honey,” she said with a smile evident in her voice. “I'll try to behave.”

Over his shoulder she caught both man gazing at her with a smile on their faces, and she reciprocated their smiles. 

Maybe, just maybe, if she played her cards right, she could have both. 

With a pained sound, Scott tore away from her, and fled back to the living room, followed by her laughter. 

~*~

It had been a nice day, the Sheriff thought as he put the last of the dishes away. Melissa's food had been devoured in what seemed to be minutes, and about half an hour ago the last of the kids had left. Only Stiles, Derek and Argent had stayed, and were currently sitting in the living room. 

“Need help?”

Or not. 

He turned around, and smiled at Chris Argent who had sent his daughter home with Isaac. He remembered his confusing feelings from this afternoon, and here in the confines of his kitchen he had this strange sensation again. In an involuntary gesture of shyness, he rubbed his neck with one hand, not noting the smile on the other man's face. 

“Ah, no, thanks, Chris. I think I'm done. You need something?”

Argent made a noncommittal sound, and pointed with his thumb over his shoulder in the vague direction of the living room. “Just thought I should give the kids some alone time. I was feeling not only like the proverbial third wheel but even worse … I felt like an old creepy guy watching the young one's making out.”

“You're not old!” Smooth, Stilinski, the Sheriff thought, to catch onto *that* part of the sentence. Shouldn't you be more worried about your son apparently making out with a werewolf of all things?

“Thanks,” Argent said with a soft note in his voice, sounding a little surprised. 

The Sheriff saw that Argent wanted to continue when out of the blue his son appeared in the kitchen, followed by a very strange looking, frowning Derek Hale and suddenly he understood why Stiles loved to call the older werewolf his 'sourwolf'. 

Whatever it was the hunter had wanted to say was gone. 

~*~

Strong hands moved over her body, touched her in all the right places, made her gasp, and moan. She arched her back, kissed a strong mouth, felt hands on her legs, gently easing them apart, another set of hands played with her breasts, clever finger teased her nipples to hardness. She leaned back against the chest of a man, heard him murmur sweet silly things in her ear while she looked down at another man. A man with short dark hair, interlaced with gray. Clear, sharp, almost silvery gray eyes looked up at her while the man gently pushed two fingers inside her. She cried out in lust, closed her eyes, let her head drop back on the shoulder of the man behind her, while touching the strong muscular thighs that surrounded her. Legs from a man that was used to run, who kept himself fit not out of vanity but because his job demanded him to be fit. Fit for police duty. 

“John,” she murmured huskily. A kiss was pressed to the outer shell of her ear, and a voice grumbled slightly, “Ssh, I'm here, honey. Just relax. Enjoy. Look at him. Isn't he breathtaking between your legs? Does he touch you good?”

She reached out and touched the face of the other man, moaning, “God, Chris, yes.”

The loud banging of the front door woke her up, and with a jolt Melissa sat upright in her bed. 

Alone.

Her skin was still tingling from her dream, and it took her a few seconds to find her composure again. She got up, put her dressing gown on, and left her bedroom. The door to Scott's room was open, and when she looked inside she saw a note on the bed. 

“Mom, had to go. Stiles called. Nothing serious, no need to worry but he needs me to be there. Will stay the night. Love Scott”

She frowned. An emergency in the middle of the night? Why hadn't he told her? Why did he just vanish? Lucky for him tomorrow was Saturday so staying the night was not a problem. And yet … why hadn't she heard the phone?

And most important of all: why had he had to slam the door so hard that she *had* to wake up? She sighed as she made her way back to her bedroom. Maybe if she was lucky she could fall asleep again and continue where she'd been so rudely interrupted. 

~*~

Scott was driving as fast as he could. Everything, EVERYthing, just to escape the sounds and the scents in his own home. This was a moment where being a werewolf sucked royally he decided. 

He stopped in front of Stiles' house, and was just about to climb the roof when a voice said quietly, “He's not here.”

Scott nearly tripped over his own feet when Chris Argent came slowly out of the shadows. Scott frowned. This night was getting weirder and weirder. 

“What … why not? And what are you doing here?” he finally asked. 

“Smoking,” Argent answered, dropping the butt of his cigarette and stepping on the glowing rest. “Stiles went home with Hale. I'm here to keep his dad company. We're … talking.”

Scott's brain resolutely refused to see ”talking” as anything other than *talking*. 

“So,” he stated eloquently, “Stiles is with Derek?”

Allison's dad nodded. “I think they went to his loft.”

Scott nodded, murmured a quick “Thanks.”, put his helmet on, and took off. 

Talking, he told himself again and again, they were only talking. He sped up a little more. After a few minutes he finally reached Derek's loft, and – after locking his bike – climbed the stairs, and knocked loudly. 

~*~

Stiles was writhing on the bed. It was amazing to feel Derek's strong hands on his body. Hands that could rip a body to shreds, could turn into claws, into deadly weapons and that now danced over his skin, making him shudder. He had been a little hesitant at first about removing his clothes, but the adoring look in the werewolf's eyes had all thoughts of inadequacy pretty much erased. Not quite but almost. The blood was running like fire through his veins. He gasped, and groaned, and moaned unashamedly. They were alone in the loft and apparently Derek loved to hear him. Loved it that even in bed he couldn't quite shut up. 

Stiles pressed himself closer to Derek's body, enjoyed the silken smoothness of the other man's skin, the play of the muscles under his hands. He was hard … so so hard. It wouldn't take too much for him to come. If Derek just moved his hands a little closer to his cock. Would touch him just there. Would grip his hips, and bite the skin on his neck just that little bit harder … 

Then those incredible fingers moved behind his balls, a slick fingertip circled his hole, and pushed slowly, carefully inside and his world exploded in an array of colors. He let put a shout and through it all he heard the growling from Derek, his mumbled, “Yeah, Stiles, let it all out. Let me hear you.” There was a roaring in his ears induced by Derek's mouth on his body. A mouth that was doing things to his body that Stiles was sure *had* to be illegal. 

A mouth that was suddenly gone, and it took Stiles a moment to realize that the loud noise he was hearing now was not the bed banging against the wall but a visitor on the door, and that Derek's cursing was not out of passion but out of frustration. 

For a moment his eyes turned their familiar icy blue, then he was gone and Stiles watched him bleary eyed running downstairs. 

Stiles lay back on the bed, panting, staring at the ceiling, unable to think. After a few moments, he leaned up on one elbow, listening intently to what was going on. 

He heard voices at the door. Derek, harsh, loud. Another man, quieter. The curiosity won out, and Stiles left the bed, put on some boxers, and carefully made his way downstairs. 

“... and I can't stand it anymore, I just need to sleep. And then I come here and this whole place *reeks* of sex, and … hi, Stiles.”

Scott beamed at Stiles as soon as he saw him. But Stiles knew him almost half his life so he saw immediately that the smile was more than a little forced. 

“Scott, what's up? Why aren't you at home?”

Scott blushed furiously, and Derek just grinned smugly. “His mom is having dreams,” he drawled. 

Scott hissed, “Shut up, Derek!”

Derek's grin grew even wider. “Apparently she has the hots for your AND Allison's dad.”

It was hardly possible but Scott's blush even seemed to deepen. 

Stiles couldn't help himself: he laughed! He had to sit down on the stairs, laughing so hard that tears came to his eyes. Derek had repeatedly told him how good he smelled, how his scent was driving him crazy, especially when he was aroused. To imagine his own parent emitting that scent, knowing what it meant … it had to drive a werewolf up the wall. 

Or – in Scott's case – out of the house.

A thought crossed his mind, and he stopped laughing long enough to ask, “How do you know it's my AND Allison's dad.”

Scott stared down at his feet, and mumbled something that Stiles didn't get but that sent Derek into a laughter-fit. 

“What?” he asked curious. 

“She … she … TALKS in her sleep,” Derek gasped. 

And then winced when Scott punched him. Hard. “Not funny,” the young alpha muttered. 

“Oh I beg to differ,” Stiles grinned, “this is not only funny … it's hilarious.” He raised from his sitting position and stepped closer to the two werewolves. “So what are you doing here?”

“I went to your house, and Allison's dad told me you were here. So I came here in the hopes of getting a little sleep.”

“And then you come here and step right into the next pheromone-cloud.”

Scott nodded. Then he sighed. “I just need to sleep. I can stand your scent but my mom … and her talking.” Again he cringed, and Stiles could totally understand him. He had freaked out a bit when he had found his and Allison's dad together in bed a few weeks ago. Not because they might do the horizontal tango but because he, Stiles, was still a virgin, and he would very much like to change that. Then his dad could get some, too. 

Speaking of which …

“You can stay here and live with the fact that there is hopefully,” here he glanced at Derek, before returning his gaze to Scott, “some heavy love-making upstairs. Or you can go to my place.” 

Derek's eyes had lit up at the mentioning to heavy love-making, and Stiles knew that Scott had to make his decision quickly. Otherwise his horny werewolf - slash - lover would simply kick him out, and carry Stiles bridal style back to bed. 

“I'll take the couch,” Scott muttered, and moved over to said couch, dropping down on it. “Just,” he sighed, casting one last glance at them, “at least pretend you try to be quiet, okay?”

~*~

Smelling and hearing his mom had been bad. Not because he didn't like sex but because it was his MOTHER! 

Eweee. And yes, he knew that he was being childish. And ridiculous. But he just couldn't help it. It was the age old play of children imagining that their parents didn't have sex because it was simply … well, eweee … for lack of a better word. 

The scents and noises coming from upstairs though didn't bother him even half as much. On contrary. He found them … exciting. 

Soft moans, occasional gasps, groans, pants, the sounds of kissing, of hands gliding over skin. The quiet whisper of words murmured against another mouth. He could feel himself harden in his boxers, and for a moment he was tempted to simply slip his hand inside and introduce his cock to his right hand. But he resisted, feeling like a perv, getting off on the sounds of sex from his best friend. 

But when the noises grew louder, the scent stronger and the rhythmic squealing of the bed was added, he threw all his caution to the wind. His hand found his hard cock, and together with Stiles and Derek upstairs he found his release. His movements were sloppy when he cleaned himself up with his undershirt, and within seconds he was fast asleep. 

~*~

“Soo,” Stiles drawled huskily, “where were we?”

With an almost feral grin, Derek threw Stiles back onto the bed, and climbed on top of him to kiss him deeply. “I think,” he murmured, not-so-gently biting a spot beneath Stiles' collarbone, “we were,” a soft tongue slid over the young man's stomach, “here!” Teeth, a little longer and sharper than human teeth, grabbed his boxers and pulled them down. 

With a moan, Stiles dropped his head back onto the bed when clever fingers removed the offending garment completely. 

“So fucking gorgeous,” Derek murmured before he engulfed Stiles' erection again with his mouth. Stiles moaned, and for a moment Derek regretted that he had allowed Scott to stay. He loved how vocal his lover was in bed. Suddenly a sly grin crept over Derek's face. Maybe he could make his lover loose his composure. Make him scream again. And teach Scott a lesson to finally man up, and learn to control his senses. 

He sucked a little harder, knowing what it would do to the young human, and just as planned, Stiles let out a deep, barely stifled groan. Derek grinned around the mouthful, slowly sinking deeper until his nose touched Stiles' pubic bone. Stiles panted, his heart hammered inside his chest, and he tried desperately to keep all the noises inside. Just you wait, the werewolf thought – and swallowed. 

This times Stiles couldn't keep the shout in. And Derek heard an answering moan from downstairs. 

Ah, so it was only his mom's scent and noises that irritated the young alpha, but he wasn't opposed to a little listening in on his best friend having sex. Well, that could be arranged. 

Derek now began to suck his lover in earnest, bobbing his head up and down, occasionally licking and biting. It was only their third time together, and they hadn't gone further than blow jobs but Derek had an amazing memory so he knew exactly what made the young man loose it completely. While his mouth was busy sucking and licking and tasting, his left hand played with Stiles' nipples, stroking them gently, then pinching them a little harder. His right hand crawled beneath the pillow and pulled out the tube of lube he hid there earlier. Never leaving up with his ministrations, he quickly coated two fingers of his right hand. 

And then, when he had Stiles deep inside his throat, he carefully pressed them inside his tight opening. 

It had the effect he had hoped it would have. With a yell, Stiles almost lifted completely off the bed, coming in long, warm spurts down Derek's throat, while his hand nearly ripped the sheets apart. 

Gasping and panting, Stiles nearly melted back onto the bed, on his face a big, stupidly happy grin. Derek let the softening cock slip out of his mouth, and very slowly pulled his fingers out. He would love nothing more than to bury himself now balls deep into Stiles willing body but he knew that his lover was still a virgin so he moved closer, until he hovered above Stiles. 

He stopped, and simply stared at the younger man, taking in the sight of Stiles' disheveled appearance. His skin was flushed, his eyes half-lidded, his lips parted, and his breath came still in little pants. Derek could hear his heart racing, and leaned down to kiss his lover, knowing how much Stiles loved to taste himself in Derek's kisses. 

Long arms wound themselves around the werewolf's neck, and Stiles murmured lazily, “What do you want, Derek?”

For a second his mind went blank at that question, then there were a million thoughts invading his brain in color and digital surround sound, but he knew that he could or would voice none of them out loud before he didn't get rid of the scent of uneasiness that he could still smell sometimes around Stiles. 

“Touch me,” he finally gritted out between clenched teeth, sure that he wouldn't last very long. Maybe he could manage a respectable time, if he really put his mind on it and concentrated on something completely different. 

In the end it took him just a few minutes from the moment Stiles touched him to his climax that he practically roared out into the silence of the loft. Panting, he broke down above Stiles, his head swimming, his limbs leaden, and his cock softening in the mess on Stiles' stomach that he had created. 

“Wow,” breathed Stiles quietly, and Derek could only nod. Wow indeed. His hearing picked up a broken moan, and he giggled slightly. 

“What?” Stiles asked, his voice already on the edge of sleep. 

“Scott,” Derek murmured into the soft skin beneath his mouth, “it seems only his mom's scent throws him off.”

He heard the young man's heart skip a beat, then he giggled, too. 

“Perv,” Stiles muttered but it lacked any heat. “You're heavy,” he added after a moment, “and sticky.” Laughing silently, Derek rolled off his lover, reached for a t-shirt and wiped them off. 

“Shower in the morning,” he grumbled. 

“Together?” Stiles asked hopefully. 

“F'course,” Derek pulled him close again, and together they fell asleep, 

~*~

The Sheriff inhaled deeply the smoke of Argent's cigarette who stood next to him. He had given up on smoking because his kid might have killed him if he'd continued. It was a starry night and although the days were already warm, the nights were still a little chilly. 

“When did you stop smoking?” Argent asked after taking another deep inhale. 

“Shortly after my wife died,” he admitted, “Stiles was so worried he might lose me, too, that he threw them all out. It was bad enough for him ...” Here the Sheriff interrupted himself for a second. Could he tell Argent about his escape route straight to the bottle? Would it change the way the other man might see him?

An arm sneaked around his shoulders, pulled him closer to the warm body next to him. 

“You don't have to talk about it if it makes you uncomfortable,” Argent murmured, offering once again a shoulder for the Sheriff to lean on. With a sigh, John dropped his head on Chris' shoulder. 

“I started drinking,” he said quietly, “after Claudia died. There was hardly a night where I was sober. And Stiles had to watch it all. Had to watch his old man drink himself into a stupor almost every night.”

It was hard to talk about it. Hard to admit his failures. Hard to admit that he had been so far gone that he got lost in a bottle. 

“Stiles finally broke down. One night I came home from the station, and there he was: standing at the sink, crying, and pouring all my liquor down the drain. Said he didn't want to loose me, too. Said it had been too hard for him to watch his mom suffer and die, and that I was the only one he had left.”

For a moment the Sheriff felt the same sadness, the same overwhelming shame and despair he had felt that night. Then the arm around him tightened, and another arm pulled him into a strong embrace. Without thinking, without analyzing the situation that it might look weird to their neighbors to see him in an almost intimate embrace with another man, he reciprocated the gesture. Wound his arms around the slightly smaller frame of the hunter, and allowed himself to be held like that. He didn't know how long they stood like that when Argent started to talk. Started to tell him about the night his wife got bitten by a werewolf. Not any werewolf. Bitten by Derek. Back when they had still hunted and killed creatures like him. When they had been convinced that all werewolves were evil creatures, and that one bite of them was a death sentence. He told him about her strength, and about his own despair. 

He told him about the night of the full moon. About how *her* push against the handle of the knife had been so much stronger than his. About how she had died in his arms. And this time it was the Sheriff who pulled the other man closer, who murmured words of comfort, words of sorrow. 

Suddenly Argent laughed slightly. “God, look at us. We stand here crying like little kids.”

But he didn't let go, seemed to enjoy the closeness just as much as the Sheriff. “We should go inside,” the Sheriff murmured finally, not loosening his grip. “Or else we'll be the talk of the town tomorrow.”

Hesitantly, they broke apart, slowly making their way inside again. 

Again, something had shifted. They had stripped their souls bare in front of each other. Each one confessing his darkest secret, each one hoping for some kind of consolation. And each one feeling relieved. 

The door closed behind them, and when they sat down on the couch again … who cared that their legs were touching?

~*~

Melissa knew she had to do something. 

Those dreams of hers were getting out of hand, and waking up every morning horny like a teenager just ruined her entire day. So either she tried to get her hormones back under control – which was highly unlikely – or she tried to get Chris Argent and the Sheriff finally first into her house and, if she was very lucky, in her bed. 

Preferably naked. 

Preferably both at once. 

Enjoying a short break in the nurse's room, she allowed her thoughts to return to her dream from last night. She sighed, and rested her head in her hand while her other hand cradled a cup of coffee. Jesus, when had her life become a mess of hormones, werewolves, erotic dreams, and … 

“Melissa?”

… Rafael McCall, her ex-husband.

She looked up. Once she had loved the way the suit clung to him in all the right places, had lovingly straightened the knot of his tie. Now she had the strong urge to strangle him with said tie for all that he had done to her Sheriff. And only the fact that in the end he had been responsible for John *keeping* his job saved him from ending in the hospital's ICU. 

“What?” she asked, sounding and feeling tired. 

He frowned. “Are you alright? You look tired.”

Really? Wow! Why hadn't he shown such insight when they had been married? She sighed again. “I'm alright. What do you want?”

He hesitantly stepped closer, waiting until she shoved one of the chairs with a little kick in his direction to sit down. 

“Have you talked to Scott lately? I mean, of course you have talked to him but did you talk with him about me?”

“Rafe, why should I?”

She knew she sounded a bit petulant but right now there were things more important to her than the bruised ego of her ex-husband. Scott didn't want to talk to him and really? Who could blame him? Ever since setting foot in this town, Rafael McCall had done nothing than causing trouble. To the Argents, to the Stilinskis, not to mention Scott and herself. 

Yeah, she could totally understand that between loosing one girl, finding another, a demon possessing his best friend, said found girl being a kitsune, and finally fighting inside the head of his friend to get him back … a nice, long heart-to-heart-talk with his dad skipped the Top Ten of her son's priority list. 

She wondered for a moment if the Sheriff or Argent would be more considerate in this matter, and decided, yes, they would be. Both of them. 

'And here we are, back to square one,' she thought. 

A warm hand on her arm startled her, and she looked up into Rafael's eyes. He seemed worried. “You sure you're okay?” he asked. 

Okay? She was lusting like a teenager after two men, did that count as 'okay'? She tried a smile, one of those she had used earlier when they had still been married and he had asked her if it was okay for him to go on yet another assignment far away. She had managed to fool him then, and she was a little surprised to realized that it still did the trick. 

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just a little tired. Haven't been sleeping so well last night.” She moved her arm so his hand slid off, and continued, “So, Scott. I take it that he still doesn't want to talk to you?”

Rafael leaned back in his chair, and sighed. “No, he's avoiding me like I got the plague or something.”

'Or something,' she thought, and barely hid a grin. 

“You have to understand him, Rafe,” she said out loud, “first you simply disappear from his life without a single word. Then you come back to this town, and start to attack the man who had been more of a father to him than you ever were.”

She saw him wince, and leaned back in satisfaction. There, that hurt, didn't it? Good. Suddenly, she was tired of this game. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, she stared directly at her ex-husband. 

“Go home, Rafe,” she said quietly, “go home, and give him time. If he ever wants to talk to you … if he ever wants to have any kind of relationship with you, he'll know where to find you. But don't force him to.”

He hold her gaze for another few seconds then he nodded, and got up. “Thanks, Melissa,” he murmured, “I know you don't like me very much,” she snorted at that statement but kept her mouth shut otherwise, “but I appreciate that you let Scott make his own decisions.”

“For heaven's sake, Rafe, he is sixteen, nearly seventeen years old!! He's not a toddler anymore. OF COURSE I let him make his own decisions.”

She knew that she was loosing her temper but sometimes this man was simply driving her up the wall. She, too, got up, grabbed his elbow and pushed him to the door. 

“Go, Rafe, just go. Talk to him, or don't talk to him. Call him or not. Right now, I don't care. So good-bye, and have a nice day.”

She practically threw him out of the nurse's station, and slammed the door shut behind him. There. Now she felt better. 

After getting herself a coffee re-fill, she sat down again. She had to work on a plan. 

~*~

Scott was a little irritated when he came home the following Friday, and found his mother not only preparing a mouthwatering meal but also laying the table for three people. 

With the good porcelain. 

And the crystal wine glasses. 

Three (!) crystal wine glasses, and the last time he checked he was barely allowed to be in the same room with the glasses, let alone drink from them. There was also a decanter on the table with red wine in it. 

“Mom?” he asked carefully. 

His mom came running out of the kitchen and Scott could almost feel his jaw drop to the floor. “Mom?” 

“Hi, honey,” she beamed at him. His mom looked … amazing! He knew she was beautiful (she was his mom after all, and he was not blind) but tonight she looked absolutely stunning. She had abandoned her usually attire of blue jeans and a shirt in favor of a black dress with big white flowers printed on it that ended just short over her knees, showing off her long legs. Her hair was open, flowing in gentle waves around her face and over her shoulders. 

Now she walked up to him, and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, before turning him around and shoving him back to the door. “Guess what, sweetie, I talked to Stiles. He said his dad isn't home tonight so you can come over to play video-games the whole night.”

Scott simply stared at her. “What?” he finally asked, refusing to be pushed out of the door. “Mom, why do I get the feeling that I'm being kicked out of my own home?”

He tried not to sound wounded but apparently his puppy eyes were making an appearance again. His mom's face softened, and gently she took his face in her hands. “Oh honey, this is your home. I would never, ever kick you out of your own home.”

Relieved, he bowed down a little to hug her, and for a few heartbeats they stood like that. Then his mom wriggled herself out of his embrace, and once more shoved him to the door. “And now go, shoo, Stiles is waiting.”

“Mo-om,” yeah, he knew it was a whine but what the heck was going on? “I have to pack a few things if I'm to stay overnight.”

His mom gifted him with one of her blinding smiles. One of those that always caused a shiver to run down his spine. And not a pleasant one. “Oh, don't you worry, sweetheart, I already did that. Your bag is over by the door. And now, shoo, I love you, see you tomorrow.”

The door closed behind him with a soft thud. 

Twenty minutes later he sat on Stiles' couch, complaining loudly about his mom's weird behavior. 

“You think this is weird?” Stiles asked him between two mouths full of pizza. He pointed with a thumb over his shoulder upstairs. “My dad is in the bathroom. For the last hour and a half. He's getting ready for 'a casual dinner with a friend',” air quotations accompanied the last words, “Now you tell me: what is his usual attire when we're over at your place? Right!” he answered the question himself, “a jeans and a clean shirt. And now? He's dressing up, buddy, dressing up.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, but Scott could see that it was goodnatured. 

“But you know what's the worst, dude?” With a dramatic sigh, Stiles let his head drop back onto the back of the couch. 

Scott thought for a moment, then he grinned. “He won't tell you for whom?” he guessed, and Stiles nodded. “He won't tell me. Says, he doesn't want to jeopardize anything.”

Sheriff John Stilinski chose this moment to enter the living-room, and for the second time this evening, Scott was speechless. He'd known Stiles' father for as long as he could remember, and he was used to see him in his uniform, in jeans and shirt, even in a sports dress. But never before had he seen him dressed up like this. He wore a dark suit, a white shirt underneath with its first two buttons opened, smelled fantastic, and was looking nervous as hell. 

“Looking great, Dad,” Stiles announced, and showed his father two thumbs up. When those blue eyes turned to him, Scott swallowed and said, “Yes, Sheriff, you're really looking great.”

A little of his nervousness seemed to bleed out of him at that statement, and he smiled hesitantly. “Thanks, boys,” he replied. Then he stepped closer, and tousled Stiles' hair. “I’m off then, boys. Behave yourself, and no wild parties while I'm gone.”

Stiles tried to look offended but that didn't work with his dad, so he only grinned, and nodded. “Got it, Dad. Have a nice evening, and say hi to … what was her name again?”

The Sheriff laughed, and tousled Stiles' hair once more. “Nice try, son. Not very clever but it was a nice try.”

He turned around, reached for his coat, and his car keys, and seconds later he was gone. 

Scott stared at the door, deeply lost in thought. 

Stiles' dad had a date. 

His mother was expecting company. 

Could it be that the Sheriff had a date with his mother? A sharp elbow in his ribs interrupted his thoughts. “Ouch,” he complained, looking at Stiles with the expression of a hurt puppy. 

Stiles only laughed. “Oh come on, big bad wolf. That couldn't possibly have hurt! You're the alpha for heaven's sake.”

Grumbling, Scott hastily grabbed the last piece of pizza while they goodnaturedly fought over what game to play. 

~*~

When Chris Argent arrived at Melissa's place that night, the first thing he saw was the Sheriff's car parked in front of the house. For a moment he stayed in the car, not sure if he'd be already welcomed. Was he too early? 

Slowly, his head sank down on the steering wheel, and he sighed. Damn. His last serious date had been too long ago. Had been Victoria. He just wasn't used to it anymore. He startled slightly when someone knocked on his window. He looked up, and saw the Sheriff standing next to his car. Suddenly he felt foolish, and opened the door to get out. 

“Feeling out of the loop?” the Sheriff asked, sympathy evident in his voice. Chris nodded. The Sheriff laughed. 

“Yeah, me too. More so because she really invited us both for dinner. Just us, no kids.”

Chris stared at him for a moment. “The last woman I dated was my wife,” he murmured a little helpless. John nodded. “Again, me too.”

The hunter locked his car, and stepped up next to the Sheriff. He looked him up and down, and whistled silently. “You look good,” he said appreciatively. John blushed a little, and reciprocated the up-and-down gaze. “Not so bad yourself, either,” he stated with a smile. 

Chris looked down at himself. Allison had helped him pick out his attire for tonight. He wore a dark suit, a white shirt, and even a tie. Though now he felt a little overdressed when he saw the casual way the Sheriff had the first few buttons of his shirt opened. 

“We should go inside,” the Sheriff finally said, “Melissa's waiting. And wait until you see her. She looks amazing.”

“She can make even her scrubs look amazing,” Chris Argent answered with a smile, and the Sheriff laughed at that. 

“Yeah, you're right.”

~*~

Nervously, Melissa watched the two men talking outside. The Sheriff had been the first to arrive, and when he had seen the table laid for three, he had looked questioningly at her. It took Melissa a few moments to see the question in the man's eyes for she was simply speechless at how good the Sheriff looked when he was not wearing his uniform. Chris Argent chose that moment to arrive. They had stepped to the window, watching him stay inside his car, and she had put a hand on the Sheriff's arm. 

“Maybe you should go outside, and invite him in. He's our third guest. It's just the three of us tonight.”

John's frown had deepened a little but he had stepped outside obediently, and approached Argent's car. 

The moment the hunter had stepped out of his car, she had serious problems to breathe and not to drool. Those two men looked so incredibly hot that she knew she simply *had* to make this work. Warmth spread through her body when they both looked over at the house, and though she was sure they couldn't see her behind the curtain she felt caressed by their gazes. She wanted … no, she *needed* them. 

Desperately!

She just hoped that she could pull herself together until the right moment. 

~*~

Though it had been a little bit weird in the beginning to realize that this wasn't his usual date, John Stilinski relaxed very soon, and enjoyed the good food and the even better company. 

Melissa looked breathtakingly beautiful in her dark dress with the white flowers, and Chris didn't hurt the eyes, either. 

It was a relief to finally be able to talk about all the strange things that happened in this town, and not to be careful all the time not to let out too much. He told Melissa about his talk with her ex-husband, and how he hesitantly finally had to admit that there really *were* strange things going on in Beacon Hills. He explained to Chris why he thought that bringing Malia, who had lived half her life in the woods as a were-coyote, back to her father might have been a mistake. 

Chris Argent talked about how he became a hunter – a family legacy. Wow. But he also told them how Scott, Isaac, and even Derek had changed the way he saw things now. That he saw the werewolves as human beings now and not only as monsters that needed to be killed. Something which Melissa was incredibly grateful for. 

Melissa shared little stories from the hospital – no names, of course. And they realized that their jobs were all pretty bloody. 

After the excellent dinner the men moved to the couch in the living room while Melissa quickly cleaned the table, and returned after a few minutes with three tumblers of Scotch. With a smile she managed to squeeze herself between the two men, and sat back with a sigh. 

Smiling, she raised her glass. “To a nice evening, gentlemen.”

They clinked their glasses, and drank the Scotch in silence. 

John watched her. The way her throat moved gently when she swallowed, the way she talked with her hands when she was excited, the reflexion of the soft light in her eyes, the shimmer of her hair. He could easily fall for her. So easily. 

Then his gaze found Argent's, and he saw the same feelings and thoughts reflected back at him in the blue-gray eyes of the man he came to care for over the last few weeks. Would he be able to share Melissa with him? 

Would Melissa be willing to *be* shared at all? Would she run away screaming if she knew what was going through his head right now? 

What would it be like to be in a relationship with another couple? Who would be the couple? Would they be a triad right from the beginning? Was Melissa already involved in any way with Chris Argent?

The silence between them stretched, and John felt the urge to say something. Anything to get them back to the playful banter they'd had during dinner. 

Chris beat him to it. He put his meanwhile empty glass on the table, laid his right arm behind her on the back of the sofa, and carefully took her hand with his left. This way his whole body was turned towards her, and involuntarily, John mirrored the gesture, turning to her, though he still lacked the courage to take her hand. But he could feel Chris' body warmth where their arms rested against each other. It was comforting.

“Melissa,” Chris began, then he momentarily seemed to be at a loss for words, gazing down at their joined hands. 

He took a deep breath, and started again. “Melissa, don't get me wrong. This is a lovely evening, and I really enjoy myself very much. But why are we really here? John and me?”

She laughed nervously, and John could see a faint blush creep up her neck. “Okay, guys,” she said, “this can go two ways now. Either this is going to be very, very awkward, or very, very hot.”

She looked at John, and took his hand in hers, so that in a way they were all holding hands together. Then she took a deep breath, and in a rush, she mumbled, “Iwantyoubothofyoupleasedon'tmakemechosebecauseIcan't.” Seemingly embarrassed about herself, she pulled her hands back, and hid her face. 

For long moments none of them spoke. Melissa had her head bowed, her blush deepened while the Sheriff still tried to come to terms with what he'd just heard. Basically, it was his dream presented to him on a silver platter. And things like that simply didn't happen to Sheriff John Stilinski. He knew that. Things like that happened to other people, to … 

“Okay by me,” Chris Argent said quietly, his voice a soft grumbling, interrupting John's chaotic thoughts very effectively. Surprised, he looked up at the hunter, and saw that his eyes went from him to Melissa and back. He cleared his throat, reached again for Melissa's hand, and said, “Okay by me, too.”

~*~

Chris stared at Melissa once his brain managed to UN-tumble the sentence. Then he smiled. Never before had he met a woman like her. Melissa McCall had been faced with so many weird things, and instead of cowering down and crying, she shoved her sleeves back, and faced things head on! 

She had to learn that her son was a werewolf, that her son's first girlfriend was the daughter of a hunter, that his current girlfriend was a kitsune, and that her ex-husband was an ass – though that was surely something she'd known before.

Then his gaze went to the Sheriff. A remarkable man as he had come to learn those past few weeks. It couldn't have been easy for him to ask a hunter and a werewolf for help to rescue his son but he'd done it. It showed the amount of love he felt for his son. And suddenly Chris Argent was curious if he would show this kind of love to everyone who managed to get a place in his heart. 

So really … if he was honest there could be only one answer to Melissa's confession. He took a deep breath, and murmured, 

“Okay by me.”

~*~

Melissa didn't trust her ears when she heard a quietly grumbled “Okay by me,” from both men. Carefully, she glanced up. 

“Seriously?” she asked, disbelieve coloring her voice. 

Instead of an answer, Chris Argent leaned close and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. Then he smiled against her mouth, and murmured, “Seriously.”

She turned to the Sheriff, and he kissed her also. Soft, quick. Gentle. Closing her eyes, she licked her lips, and let her head drop back again. With a quiet laughter, she murmured, “You are amazing, guys.”

Hands on her thighs made her open her eyes again. Her men – god, she loved the sound of that – had moved closer, their arms touched behind her, and for a crazy second she wanted to see them kiss each other. But maybe that would be too soon. Maybe it would never happen. But right now she had this. Had this two incredible men willing to be with her. 

“What do you want, Melissa?” John murmured, and she gasped. “God,” she whispered, “I never thought I really could have this.”

“You can,” Chris mumbled from her other side. “Just say what you want. We do everything for you, right, John?”

“M-hm,” came the replay, and Melissa resolutely stood up, gazing at the men on her couch. “Then let's move this,” she said with a wide smile, “for what I have in mind, a bed would be a much better place.”

She turned around, and felt the two men following her. It was like one of her dreams come true, when she opened the door to her bedroom, and could sense the strong presence of not only one but two bodies behind her. She switched on her bedside lamp. This would have to do for their first time. The next time she could go for something more romantic. Turning around, she saw them standing a little closer than two men normally would, and again her brain came up with pictures of those two kissing. A shiver ran down her spine. Slowly, she stepped up to them, resting her hands on each chest, feeling their hearts beat quickly. “Glad to notice, I'm not the only one affected,” she smiled. 

“Oh no, you're not,” John rasped, then he moved in to kiss her. Properly, this time. She closed her eyes, and got lost in the kiss. Damn, that men knew how to use his tongue. She could feel her knees go week, when there suddenly was another arm encircling her from behind, keeping her upright. A hand shoved her hair from her neck, and another set of lips gently caressed her skin there. She moaned into John's mouth at the double sensation. 

Clever fingers opened the zipper on her dress, and while she was still distracted by John's talented mouth, her dress slid sensuously down her shoulders, and pooled around her feet. A groan came from behind her, followed by a softly murmured, “God, you're beautiful.”

She pushed John's jacket down, and moved in on his buttons, opening one after the other until she finally – finally – felt skin under her hands. With a gasp, John ended the kiss. A hand under her chin, turned her head around and immediately her lips were captured by another mouth, kissing her just as thoroughly. She turned in Chris Argent's arms, and wound her own around his neck. In that moment her bra fell down to her feet. And she laughed slightly into the kiss. Chris moved back a fraction, gazing in her eyes, a question clear in his eyes. “Eager, are we?” she whispered, and then dove in for another kiss. 

“You have no idea,” came the answer from behind her. John's mouth traveled a path over her shoulders, gently biting the curve where neck met shoulder, making her shiver. 

Her finger sought out the buttons on Chris' shirt, and found them with unerringly certainty. Opening one after the other, she suddenly realized that her hands were trembling. She broke the kiss again, and looked down at herself. She was naked to the waist, her dress a forgotten heap at her feet, her breasts cupped gently from behind by two strong hands, another set of hands on her waist, caressing her skin there. A half-naked man in her back, a second one in front of her with his shirt open while his tie was still around his neck. 

“Talk to us, Melissa,” John murmured suddenly into her ear. “Tell us what you think. What you want.”

“What you need, Melissa,” Chris breathed against her other ear, and oh that was flat out unfair. How should she be able to think let alone form a coherent sentence when she was in such a sensory overload? Blindly, she touched back, and her hand found skin, and suddenly it was easy. Oh so easy. 

“Skin,” she gasped, “I want to feel your skin, want to see you,” she pressed herself shamelessly back against John, while pulling Chris closer to her front, “I want to taste you.”

Two deep groans told her that her men were clearly on board with that wish. They managed to move to the bed where they laid her down like she was something precious, before nearly ripping their own clothes off. 

“Whoa, whoa,” she laughed, propping up on one elbow, “slowly. I wanna enjoy the show.”

When her men looked at her, she could see the heat in their eyes, and she felt sexy, and wanted, and desired. Feelings she hadn't had for a long time. And now she wanted to see them undress slowly, preferably each other but she would take what she got.

For a moment they gazed uncertainly at each other, then – very slowly – John reached out for Chris, and Melissa held her breath. 

~*~

“I wanna enjoy the show.” Melissa laughed, lounging on her bed, half-naked, looking like a nymph, and John stopped for a moment, his hands on his belt buckle. 

He cast a quick glance over at Chris, and saw him looking back at him. And that was when he saw the desire in his eyes. Not only for the beautiful woman on the bed but also – a little bit at least – for him, the worn-out Sheriff with a few pounds too much on his ribs. 

He reached out, and was relieved to see that the hunter turned to him, his own hands at the hem of his shirt where he'd been busy pulling it out of his trousers moments earlier. 

“Let me,” he murmured, and began to untangle the knot of the tie, slowly pulling it off. He looked directly into those fascinating blue-gray eyes, as he slowly finished opening the shirt, and shoved it down over strong shoulders until it fell to the floor with a soft whisper of fabric, joining Melissa's dress. 

Without a single word, Chris raised his hands, and did the same to him, following with his hands the way of his shirt, stroking over his bare shoulders over his arms down to his hands. 

The Sheriff looked down at where their hands were almost intertwined. Elegant, agile fingers that could pull a trigger with deadly precision, and that could treat wounds with incredible tenderness. He compared them to his own, bigger hands. Calloused from years of hard work. 

“You can touch, you know?” Chris whispered suddenly, and John looked up. 

“What?” 

Chris took his hand and placed it carefully over his heart. “I said, you can touch. That is … if you want to.”

Did he want to? His fingers touched smooth skin covered with a light dust of chest hair not unlike his own. He looked down at himself, and involuntarily compared himself to the man standing in front of him. Chris Argent looked as cool and composed as ever, and only the erratic beating of his heart showed John that he was just putting on a mask. The body of the other man was sculpted. Hard muscles under soft skin, not an ounce of fat. Lean and sinewy. 

He himself wasn't in that bad a shape either. Being a cop did have its advantages. He never needed to go to an extra gym. All the running around and fighting kept him fit. But he was beginning to show a little rounding where once a six-pack had been. Where Chris *still* had a six-pack 

“I,” he started but grew silent again. Unconsciously, his fingertips began to glide over a shoulder, over a scar, down the arm, and back up again. He took a deep breath, and began again. “I don't know what to do,” he admitted a little helpless. 

Chris took a step closer. So close that the Sheriff felt his breath on his naked shoulder. “How about,” he murmured, “we go over to that bed where a beautiful woman is watching us. And wanting us.” He backed away a little, and took hold of John's hand. “And we figure the rest out as we go.”

~*~

Melissa had sensed that those few moments the men had spent communicating with each other had been important. So important to everything that would be happening in her bedroom in the next hours. 

Now they turned to her, and she could feel a shiver run over her body. Oh, this was going to be so good. They were still wearing their pants but their chests were gloriously naked, and Melissa's fingers *itched* to finally touch. 

They came to her, Chris Argent crawling across the covers like the predator he was to rest on her left, John carefully laying down on her right, sweet and considerate as always. 

Together they moved in on her, one kissing her mouth, the other one her shoulder, gently touching her, moving her on the bed so was laid out to their liking. Then she closed her eyes, and simply enjoyed. Simply felt. Emotions that had been hidden far too long came to the surface again. 

It was incredible. 

She realized that her dreams now paled in comparison because nothing could have prepared her for this. For those two men treated her like she was something precious. Blindly, she reached up, burying her hand in soft hair, pulling the head down to kiss. 

John, she realized, as the mouth descended gently on hers, tongue slipping inside when she moaned. They deepened the kiss, and then she gasped when she felt a pair of lips on the inside of her left leg. 

It was such a contrast to the loving kiss she was receiving that she groaned. It was not soft, not gentle It was hungry, bites on the verge of pain but not quite there yet. She writhed restlessly not sure if she wanted to move closer to that sensation or if she wanted to move away. A strong arm over her middle pinned her down, and her eyes flew open when John broke the kiss. Almost panting, she stared up at him. 

“Look,” he whispered, motioning with his head down. She followed this movement with her eyes, and gasped again. 

Chris was resting between her legs, staring intently up at her, catching and holding her gaze. Then – very deliberately – he grabbed her legs and rested them over his shoulders so her heels were digging into his back. He moved two fingers to his mouth, wet them, and – never leaving her gaze – slowly pushed them inside her. It was almost enough to push her over the edge. She cried out softly, clenched her inner muscles so she kept Chris' fingers inside her. It felt so good, and too soon she could feel them moving out of her body again. Before she could complain they pushed back in again, establishing a rhythm. 

In, out, and quickly back in again. Two fingers became three, and the moment John leaned forward and gently circled her nipple with his tongue she came with a shout. 

“So responsive,” she heard a voice murmur, and unable to respond with her heart still beating wildly, she simply smiled. Yeah, okay, it had been a while, and she had a lot of catching up to do. With shaking hands she reached for the nearest belt buckle she could find. 

“Off,” she mumbled, “off. You're still overdressed, both of you. Off with these, want to see, want to touch more of you.”

This time she didn't stop them when they jumped up, and simply ripped their clothes off. Both men hesitated for a second when they were down to their underwear, and – after exchanging a look – they dropped them simultaneously. 

Melissa sat up, and simply looked at them. 

They were magnificent. Both build but not overly so, and so wonderfully, beautifully erect and hard. For her. Only for her. She watched as they came closer to her, coming to bed again. “So gorgeous,” she whispered when they were close enough that she could touch them. She closed her right hand around John, her left around Chris. Both men moaned softly. 

It was fascinating. They were so different, and yet so much alike. Carefully, she began to stroke them both, enjoying their reactions. While Chris was pretty quiet, only breathing harder, the Sheriff had no problems to declare what he liked. He moaned, gasped, whispered her name, murmured, “Yes, god, just like that, Melissa, harder, please.”

Without realizing it, she began to concentrate more on the Sheriff. She wanted to make him come. Wanted to see him come undone just like they had done to her. She wanted him inside of her. Wanted to see that face above her when he came. 

She stopped her stroking, and let go of the Sheriff. Ignoring the questioning looks she got, she stretched, and reached for her nightstand. 

The hunter took this opportunity to let his hands glide over her back down to her ass, caressing it lovingly. 

She took the opportunity, to give John's hard cock a quick kiss and a lick as she moved back, an unopened box of condoms in her hand, laughing a little when he nearly tumbled over her in his surprise. This time there was a noise from Chris. A stutter in his breathing when he saw the condoms, and Melissa noticed that he gripped the base of his cock real tight. To prevent his orgasm she guessed, and she felt incredibly flattered. 

Ripping the box open, she took one of the condoms out, and held it up. “Who wants to go first?” she asked, hoping none of them would notice the tremor in her voice. There were so many things she wanted to do with those two men but right now she just wanted to be taken. Hard, gentle, she didn't care. In her own head she dared to be a little obscene. She wanted to get fucked. Period.

Chris took a deep breath, then he pointed at John. “I,” he started before he had to clear his throat, “I'm not sure I can last long enough this time around. Maybe John should start.”

The Sheriff looked into the hunter's eyes, then down to his cock, and grinned. It wasn't a mean or a malicious grin. It was full of humor, and he murmured, “Guess me jerking off like a teenager those last few days comes in handy now.”

She laughed out loud. “You did?”

Now he blushed a little as if he just now realized what he'd said. Then he nodded. 

“I've been thinking so much about tonight, hoping, and wishing, and … well, my body reacted. I'm so glad Stiles hasn't any enhanced senses … otherwise I might have driven him up the wall.”

“Or out of the house,” Melissa added, and giggled like a little girl, remembering the night Scott had run off. She had to tell them about that night. Maybe later. Maybe tomorrow. Her gaze fell onto the condom in her hand. Definitely tomorrow. 

“So,” she said, holding the little square foil up again, “you ready?”

John turned serious again. He reached for her, gently touching her face. “Hell yeah,” he murmured against her mouth. He took the condom from her, and turned around with a surprised noise when it was ripped out of his fingers moments later. He looked at Argent who quickly opened the foil, and for a few heartbeats John was irritated. Did Chris want to go first after all? Did he … oh. He groaned deeply, when very clever and very male fingers rolled the condom over his hard length, giving it a few firm strokes on the way. 

“You keep doing that, and Melissa will have to wait a few hours before she will get anything,” he pressed through clenched teeth, gripping the hunter's wrist tightly. A smirk was the answer. 

Melissa moaned at the erotic display in front of her, and without thinking she spread her legs a little. She wanted that thick, hard cock inside of her right now. Wanted to feel it pressing in, in, in until she felt full. Two sets of eyes turned to her, and she blushed. 

“Did I … did I say that out loud?” she asked with a shy smile. Both men nodded, and finally John moved closer, lined his cock up, and slowly, so, so slowly, pressed it inside of her. 

She let out a very content sigh when he at last bottomed out, and he leaned down to kiss her. 

~*~

She felt amazing. Warm, slick heat surrounded John's cock, soft skin under his hands, a welcoming mouth on his, and the strong presence of the hunter behind him, a firm hand on his back, slowly sliding up and down. He remained motionless, afraid he might loose it the moment he started moving. 

She took this decision right out of his hands when in an impatient gesture she pressed her hips up against his, and he growled. His self-restraint seemed to snap at that, and he grabbed her hips, and began to push into her. In, out, in, a little rolling motion with his hips, and she moaned again. Yes, this was what he had dreamed about. Her nails began to dig in his arms but it didn't register with him at the moment. He closed his eyes, and began to fuck her in earnest. Her little cries only spurred him on. Deeper, harder, faster, until she suddenly was quiet. He stopped abruptly, afraid he'd been too rough, and opened his eyes again, looking down at her. 

“Fuck,” he gasped out impulsively at the sight that greeted him. And he now understood why she had suddenly fallen silent. It was hard to talk with your mouth full after all. Chris was kneeling beside him, his right hand rested on his, John's, shoulder, his left hand was caressing Melissa's face, while she was busy sucking him. From the noises Chris was making she had to be a natural. John smiled, and began to move again. 

~*~

Chris had his eyes fixed on Melissa, staring down intently at her, taking in every little detail, every expression on her face, every gasp she made, every moan she couldn't suppress. His cock slid slowly in an out of her mouth, occasionally she bit him gently, sending shivers down his spine. He could feel his release approaching. Fast!

But he didn't want to come alone, so he reached down to where she was joined with the Sheriff, and touched her. She bucked wildly, nearly dislodging John who barked out a throaty laugh, gripped her tighter, and thrust inside her again. 

She was so wet, and Chris gritted his teeth while stroking her closer and closer to her climax, praying that he wouldn't embarrass himself by coming too early. But after Melissa managed to take him in almost to the root he knew that he was fighting a loosing battle. He slowly pulled back, murmuring, “Ssh, wait, Melissa, honey, wait, please, I'm ...”

Before he was able to finish the sentence, she reached for him, stroking him hard and fast, pointing his erection at her breasts, and almost helplessly he came. Gasping he watched as his cum painted her tanned skin, and the moment the warm liquid touched her, she came, too. It was like a chain reaction causing John to come only moments later, shuddering through his release. 

Chris could see that it was hard for the other man not to simply collapse on top of their woman, and he put his arms around him, steadying him. With a grateful smile, John rested against him. 

~*~

She felt like floating. Warmth surrounded her, caring hands gently cleaned her up, pulled the covers up over her naked body who still trembled slightly in aftershocks, and then they were cuddling up close to her, one on her right, the other on her left, embracing her, making her feel loved and protected. 

“That's because you are,” the Sheriff grumbled on her right, and she laughed slightly. 

“I said that out loud again, right?” she whispered. 

“Yeah, you did,” the hunter murmured on her other side. 

With a happy sigh, she cuddled deeper into the covers. 

~*~

They made love two more times that night. Melissa was convinced that the house, or better, the whole area had to be reeking of their activities. 

And sometime between them kissing her, one of them pushing deep inside of her while the other man kissed and fondled her with so much tenderness and love that it took her breath away, and them all falling asleep again, she almost pitied her son who had to come home to that. 

She smiled. 

Almost.

~*~

When Scott and Stiles arrived at Scott's house the next morning, they were surprised to see the Sheriff's car in the driveway. But not only his car but also … 

“That's the car from Allison's dad,” Scott murmured. 

“You sure?” Stiles asked back, looking a little confused. 

For a moment he wondered what he was doing here. They had played video-games until 2:30 in the morning, had gone through two bags of crisps, one bag of salt pretzels and three litres of coke until they finally had traipsed up the stairs to Stiles' bedroom and fallen into bed. That was: Stiles into bed, Scott on the air mattress. About ten minutes later the window had been opened carefully, and Scott had seen the familiar shape of Derek climbing in. The older werewolf had undressed himself quietly and slipped into bed next to Stiles who hadn't even woken up properly. He had just grunted, pushed himself closer to Derek, and that had been that. It had been Scott's mobile ringing that had woken them up at seven thirty in the morning. Derek had been gone by then, and Stiles had thrown a pillow at Scott's head yelling at him for not 'turning the damn thing off the night before'. 

Already awake, they had taken turns in the shower, and decided to go over to Scott's place in the hope for breakfast. 

So here they were. At 08:30 on a Sunday morning, staring at two cars in front of Scott's home. 

Finally, Stiles switched off the engine, and announced, “I'm hungry. You comin' or what?”

~*~

Scott didn't know what to expect. He knew that Stiles' and Allison's dad were probably inside his home with his mom, and he had no idea why. Did they have dinner together, it got late and the men crashed on the couch? Why were they here in the first place?

Slowly, carefully, he approached his front door, ignoring the giggling from Stiles behind him. A light push against his back made him stumble, and he turned around to glare at his best friend. 

“Oh come on, alpha,” he laughed, “afraid your mom might have a guy over, and might have had some fun tonight?”

And there it was again … the thought of his mom having sex. He pushed the key into the door, opened the door a fraction, and carefully sniffed. 

With a surprised noise he opened the door fully. There was the clattering sound of dishes coming from the kitchen, two pair of man’s shoes were standing neatly side by side, and he could smell coffee, waffles, eggs, bacon, and overlaying it all was a completely new scent. The scent of warmth, of home, of love. 

He followed the soft music and the humming to the kitchen, and just then his mom walked out. For a moment he was speechless. 

His mother was preparing breakfast, wearing nothing than a white button-down shirt that was slightly familiar (and even before Stiles' muttered “That's my dad's shirt!”, thank you very much) and dark boxer-shorts that Scott's never seen before. Her dark hair was tied up in a loose ponytail. 

“Mom?” he asked softly. She whirled around, and when she saw him, she beamed brightly, dancing over to hug him. 

“Hey, baby,” she sing-songed softly, and he winced. He was almost seventeen … so … baby? Really?

“Mom, are you okay?” 

Slowly, Scott stepped into the dining room, and glanced at the table. 

Laid for three. 

Again!

“Did you know we'd be back for breakfast?” he asked carefully, a little afraid of the answer. 

Before his mom could answer though, there was another voice coming from the kitchen, “No, not exactly.” Scott swallowed when he noticed Chris Argent exiting the kitchen, walking up to his mom, embracing her from behind, and giving her a tender kiss on her cheek. “But I think we can put on two more plates, can't we, honey?!”

Scott's mind came to a stuttering halt, staring at those strong arms resting around his mom's waist as if they belonged there. And there was also the fact that Allison's dad only wore dark trousers, and nothing else. 

(really nothing, a voice in his brain added with a little smirk, sounding a lot like Derek)

“Two?” Stiles asked behind him, and for a moment Scott felt unable to relate to that question. 

“Think I'll leave the house without breakfast, son?” a deep voice behind them grumbled gently. 

Scott shrieked, there was no other way to put it. Stiles' dad had come down the stairs, silently, surprising the hell out of the two friends. A hard knuckled fist met his back. “Couldn't you have warned me?” Stiles hissed, and Scott shook his head. 

No. No, he couldn't because he was still trying to process the fact that Chris Argent was holding his mom like a lover. 

And that Sheriff John Stilinski passed the couple with a “Two more plates?” and a quick peck to her cheek. And to Argent's cheek! 

Stiles' laughter brought him back to the here and now. The laughter and the fact that all three adults were staring at him. His mom with something close to worry in her eyes. 

But it was more than he could stand! 

"Am I the only one who finds this weird?" he yelled suddenly, feeling insecure and foolish at the same time. 

Chris Argent removed his hands as if he'd suddenly burned them, and even the Sheriff took a hesitant step back. Leaving his mom standing alone between them. 

And Scott McCall felt like the worst son ever!!

The beautiful glow that had surrounded his mother ever since last evening seemed to disappear. Poof, and it was gone. All that left was his mom, standing there in a too-big shirt that belonged to another man, her shoulders slumping slightly, the smile vanished from her face. Wiped from there by him, her own son. Her son who should be happy for her and not dare to judge her. 

The fist bump he got now from Stiles was a lot harder than before, and he stumbled slightly. 

But before he was able to say something – to apologize profusely to his mom for being a jerk and an utter idiot – Argent and the Sheriff simultaneously stepped closer to her again, lending her the strength she seemed to need because her son was an idiot. 

“Mom, I...” he began but was interrupted by the Sheriff.

“Scott, no!” 

The older Stilinski took a deep breath, and moved even closer to Melissa, touching her shoulder. “I will not apologize for what happened between your mother, Chris Argent and me last night.” He cast both of them a soft look. 

“And whether you like it or not, Scott,” - Scott, not son the way he usually called him. Scott felt like a bug right now. A really ugly bug. - “we all will repeat it. Again, and again. Because somehow we all fell in love with each other.”

~*~

Stiles was torn between the extreme happiness he felt for his dad, and the fury he felt for his best friend. How could he not see that this was beyond perfect?!

He had known that his dad had felt lonely ever since his mom had died. But he had never tried to replace her. Ever since that fateful day all those years ago he had put his whole energy in his job and his son, had made those two things his whole world. And now that he, Stiles, had Derek, his dad had finally dared to look for some love and happiness for himself. And he'd had the incredible luck to find not one but two people. 

And Allison's dad … well, okay, that came a bit as a surprise for him. But after he had found them in his dad's bed together that one night, something had changed. He had sensed it then, and could see it now. It was comfort, familiarity, and – in a way – love. 

And to him it was amazing!

“God, Scott,” he growled, “get your head out of your ass.” 

Scott turned around to face him, a look of surprised hurt on his face. Stiles started to flail his arms, trying to encompass everything: the scenery around them, the atmosphere, their parents. 

“You screw every pretty girl that lets you get to second base, and you frown upon your own mom? Seriously?”

Scott blushed furiously, and behind him Stiles could hear his dad snicker slightly. Or was it Allison's dad?

Did it matter?

He turned around, walked to his dad, and hugged him tightly. “I'm glad for you, dad,” he mumbled into his shoulder. His dad hugged him back just as tightly. 

“That's not what I meant,” Scott murmured, sounding hurt, and sad, and immediately Stiles felt as if he'd kicked a puppy. Or hit a puppy with a kitten. 

He didn't completely let go of his dad, just turned his head. “What was it you meant, then?”

“This … it just came as a surprise.” Scott took a hesitant step closer to his mother. “Why didn't you tell me?”

She smiled and relieved Stiles noticed that the tenseness had vanished from her. “I wasn't sure how last night would work out, baby,” she said softly. Stiles grinned into his dad's shoulder. Baby! Ha! Take that, Scott 'Baby' McCall. 

“And now?”

A slight move back, maybe even unnoticed by her, brought her closer to his and Allison's dad. “I want to keep them,” she simply said. 

And really … it *was* that simple. 

Scott took a deep breath, looked up through his lashes, and finally smiled. “I'm happy for you, mom.”

~*~

Chris didn't realize he had held his breath, until he slowly released it, hopefully unnoticed by the rest of the people in the room. A knowing look from John told him that that hope was in vain. He smiled, then laughed. God, this was his life from now on. He wasn't alone any more. Had somehow found love again in such a strange place with two amazing people. 

He turned to Melissa, gave her a peck on the cheek – absolutely ignoring Scott's little wince – and looked at John and Stiles. 

“So, breakfast?” he asked. 

The end


End file.
